Home>>read Murder at Marble House free online

Murder at Marble House(69)

By:Alyssa Maxwell


Nanny’s list of illustrious servants had me shaking my head in confusion until she said, “Don’t you see, Emma? Lady Amelia stayed first with the Goelets last winter, then with the Astors in the spring, and finally with the Delafields before coming here to stay with your Aunt Alva.” She compressed her lips and peered at me over her spectacles like a schoolmarm waiting for the figures to add up in my head.

“You mean she doesn’t have a home of her own?”

“Nor maids nor carriages nor any prospects at all save for a trunkful of extravagant gowns.”

“And the kindness of friends.” I pressed my knuckles against my lips. “Good heavens. When all this happened and the police questioned Lady Amelia on the whereabouts of her scarf, it came out that Clara Parker had been serving as her lady’s maid because Amelia’s own had taken ill.”

“Ill, my eye. The gentry are always quick with a story to cover their tracks. Lady Amelia’s a fake, pure and simple. Oh, I’ve no doubt she was raised with a silver spoon between her lips, but the money’s gone and unless she finds a rich husband quick, she’ll be out of options.”

“And in a way it makes perfect sense that she’d ingratiate herself to Aunt Alva,” I said. “With Consuelo engaged, Amelia was probably hoping to be introduced to some of the castoff suitors.”

“Emmaline Cross, what the devil are you doing in there?”

Brady’s urgent interruption set my feet in motion. “Thanks, Nanny, this certainly sheds some new light on matters.”

We’d no sooner arrived at The Breakers than a waiting footman whisked Brady upstairs. I was also led upstairs but at a much more sedate pace, and delivered to Aunt Alice, who was enjoying breakfast out on the upper loggia. Sunlight glittered on the ocean beyond the gardens, but the covered loggia was cool and shady.

“Ah, Emmaline,” she crooned when she saw me. “Do join me for some kippers and eggs. Gertrude won’t be up for hours yet. Parker,” she said to the footman still hovering behind me, “please bring an extra place setting for my niece.”

She said this last with an affection that drew my notice. Not that I ever doubted Aunt Alice’s sentiments toward me. She might not approve of everything I did, but her fondness for me had always been evident. Still, she wasn’t one to express emotion save the hearty self-satisfaction of having full control over her world. So then . . .

“I hear you’ve been to Marble House recently.”

Ah. I sat in a cushioned chair beside her chaise lounge. “Yes, I was there when—”

“Oh, Emmaline, nothing good can come of associating with that woman. And now you’re embroiled in a most unsavory matter.”

By that woman, I knew she referred to Aunt Alva. I fought the temptation to remind her that associating with her own branch of the Vanderbilt family had brought nearly identical results not all that long ago. “I went to see Consuelo, Aunt Alice.”

She blew out a breath, popped a morsel into her mouth, and took her time in answering. “That poor child . . . a lovely girl, and she’s been made to endure so much because of that mother of hers.”

I couldn’t argue there.

“Tell me, how is the poor dear holding up?”

Here I needed to be careful. I appreciated Aunt Alice, I respected Aunt Alice, but I didn’t trust Aunt Alice not to find a way to use the current situation to her advantage. She and Aunt Alva had long been rivals—their two monstrous houses stood testament to that. Would Alice use Consuelo’s disappearance to fuel a scandal? My heart said no. Family history, however, warned otherwise.

“Consuelo is distraught,” I said without lying. “This is not a happy time for her.”

“Is it true—” Aunt Alice broke off as Parker reappeared carrying a tray. He set it down on the little garden table between Aunt Alice and myself, and lifted the cover off a plate heaped with golden scrambled eggs framed by two long, silvery brown kippers. Beside the plate sat a small bowl of sliced melon and strawberries.

“Did I mention I ate at home?” I said. Yet my stomach rumbled in appreciation of the aromas spiraling from the tray.

“You’ll eat again,” my aunt said with a dismissive wave, though an unnecessary one as I’d already set the plate on my knees and unwrapped my fork from the napkin. “You’re too thin, at any rate.”

Once again, not a point to argue over. Parker’s receding footsteps prompted Aunt Alice to swallow a bite of kipper and lean toward me. “I had started to ask you. Is it true about Consuelo’s engagement?”

“Surely Uncle William discussed it with Uncle Cornelius,” I began, but she cut me off with another one of her waves, as if swatting at a fly.